Adesron
by WindSPun
Summary: There are 12 main Greek gods- at least, those are all that have been written of. He is Adesron, the 13th and terrifyingly powerful, the son of Hades and Persephone. This is his story.rnPG-13 for swearing, etc. part one revised
1. Prologue

This will be the only authors note until the last chapter: This is the rewritten version of Adesron. Disclaimer: (I refuse to post this every chapter, so listen up!) I don't own any of the Greek myths. No one does actually, but that's beside the point. Adesron is all mine by the way. You should only read this if you have somewhat extensive knowledge of the gods and their areas of power. If you choose to read it without said knowledge then any confusion will be only your own fault. You have been warned. Muahahaha- ahem. Many thanks to my wonderful beta- Kat Small. On with the show...  
  
You will not find my name in any of your books. There are no statues of me from the old days either, because no one worships one hiding among immortals. And that is what I was, despite my being of the same immortal lineage. Always hiding... except that one time I claimed the glory that is my birthright, scaring everyone. Especially myself. Anyway, I hid so long only because I was disgustingly overprotected. I am a god, and my name used to be Adesron. I have my real name now, but telling you would change too much so I will stay Adesron for this narration. You see, I have to stay the way mortals have made me, if only for their sake. The Forgotten God, if you care to wax poetical. But this is now, and that was then. Let me take you back to the times when the very Earth crackled and hummed with the footsteps of Man and the breath of the gods. Let me take you back to those times, so many eons ago. For just a little while- remember me. 


	2. Background

On the rare occasions I saw my many relatives, I was told time and again how I had been such a good baby, had never thrown tantrums, had cried so little, on and on it went. My family never sounded as surprised as I thought they should have, because believe me. I had plenty to cry about. First off Father was off being king all the time, so I hardly ever saw him. Even when I did, he made it quite clear that there was no way the Lord of the Underworld was going to spend his time with a little boy. Mother was a whole different story. She really did her best, and she did love me. But I suppose it is hard to be an ideal mother when you are away half the year being Goddess of the Harvest. Even when she was with me, there was a part of her that was constantly grieving for the sunlit world she always called "home" until she left again. From her tales, nothing like the cavernous, damp maze of torchlit rivers and echoing walls of stone. I guess it is all right for her to miss her mother and the place she grew up in, but did she have to look so happy every time she left me?  
The problems really started when I was eight. You see, immortals grow at a pace with the mortals until we are mature and get our power, then aging slows to almost a halt. But anyways, Mother thought I was old enough then to go with her when she left so I could see the world above. Father was adamant that I would stay in his realm. They argued for months, and eventually took the matter to Uncle Zeus. Not like anybody bothered to ask what I wanted. So while they were on Olympus I came to the slightly nonsensical conclusion that all the dissent was my fault. I may have been little more than a child, but gods make precocious children. So since it was all my fault, everything would be all right again once I ran away.  
Of course, running away might make things better for my parents but I was not quite sure I liked it. I was going to miss Cerebrus. She- yes, she- always had at least one sympathetic ear to lend on account of having so many in the first place. Since I had been given free reign of the Underworld I had made friends with some of the souls. I actually liked the people under the Erinyes better than those in the Elaysian fields. The "great sinners" were more interesting than the heroes frankly. But I could not tell anyone I was going. You see, in my father's kingdom no secret was safe if he deemed it important enough to warrant his attention. 


	3. Never say goodbye

The actual running away was harder than I had expected. I had never really bothered to find the paupers entrance as I had never wanted to leave. But I could hardly leave by the main entrance because I had no way to get across the river Styx. It is really not a good idea to swim across rivers like that, and the ferryman, Charon, is such a suck up. He would tell Father in a second and then I'd be back in the Underworld and grounded for centuries. So I actually had to sneak out the paupers enterance, dodging Hermes and all the dead souls coming in that way. Then once I got out I was in the middle of nowhere. I should have paid more attention to the times Mother had showed me maps and such. And you can't transform or fly or anything until you're a full god with all your powers and everything. It was not fair. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------On the bright side, you look just like a mortal until you develop your power and get worshippers. So I picked a direction and started walking. Late that afternoon I came to a small town. It seemed good at first, but that was before I realized that I had made a big mistake. I hadn't brought any gold, or anything to barter with. Just wonderful. I had to actually work as a stableboy at the inn for lodging. Not even my own room, I had to share a damp, small room with moss growing on the stones. The others renting the room were loud and smelly and all knew each other. It was very undignified to have to muck stalls and sweep floors and chase after coins flipped my way when I held a stirrup. ----------------------------------By the end of the day my back hurt and I really wanted to tell everyone there that I was in fact a god, and they should be more respectful. But other than the pain and the smell, it seemed kind of like a game. Despite coming dangerously close to exploding at one or two peope who shoved and swore at me, my charade didn't slip once. Unless you counted dinner. I was talking to a drunk altarboy, and accidentally let slip the name of Hades. At once the entire room went silent, and everyone had turned to stare at me for a few mortifying seconds punctuated by the creak of a swinging lantern. I should have remembered; a mortal saying Father's name was tantamount to drawing his attention. Strange, I had never thought to fear my own father before. The humans obviously didn't want the atte ntion of Lord of Death, and I certainly didn't either. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------No, I had not been prepared to run away. I had not even come up with a name. I could not use Adesron, because it means 'son of Hades.' So after a moment of quick thinking I gave Aleron as my name. It seemed apt, because Aleron literally means 'on the wing.' But after a day or so I began to slip into my assumed identity, living off the rather skimpy pay from the inn stables. Just let me say it is a good thing gods do not need to eat. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that the Olympians and my parents would come looking for me, but I hadn't thought about what that would mean. I could not have known that I was in for the rude awakening of my life. 


	4. Failure

I was wrong as it turned out. Dead wrong. By midday no one dared go out of doors, and some were even beginning to say that the gods demanded a humann sacrifice. If there is one thing that every immortal is dead set against, it is human sacrifice. The very idea makes me sick. So I didn't even think about what I was going to do when I slipped out the back. I was going to stop the destruction. Some way or another. Once I was actually outside, it was all I could do to gape a bit. Twelve main gods, almost countless minor gods, and the winds. That's a lot of pandemonium in about six hours. That was about when I got seriously ticked off at my relatives. So what if you happen to rule creation! It doesn't give you the right to trample all over it when ever you feel like it. At that inopertune time I came into my power, and oh gods my uncle had been right. I was the first god since the division of Olympus and the Underworld to have both bloodlines. Yeah, it's not just my father down there, there's a whole ruling house. But they hate mortals... I digress. My power had been late, certainly, but come with a vhemence and strangth none could have predicted. I stopped time. I didn't notice until I saw a tree uprooted by Boreas, the North Wind. It was just hanging there in midair, stripped of all leaves. That wasn't that unusual a sight considering this sort of thing had been happening all day, but I became seriously confused when I was walking under said tree and felt absolutely no wind. Hesitantly, I reached out and touched one of the tumbling leaves hanging in midair. I felt like I had stepped into a painting or a tapestry depicting the might of the gods. But in tapestries leaves did not move. As soon as I brushed a finger against it, it trembled and fell to the damp ground. I went over to one of the outbuildings still standing, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Sliding to the ground, I leaned my back against the rough boards and tried to gather myself. After a minute, I was pretty sure I knew what had happened, and as I began to grasp the possibilities a smile spread over my face. I could go to any time in history I wanted to! I could change the outcome of wars, I could meet Hercules and Orpheus, I could watch the early wars of the gods and the Titans! But then my smile faded. I knew what I wanted to do. But before then I had to learn control. I spent who knows how long in that suspended time. I went back to when that town was one small house on a hill. Then I practiced making more specific jumps, narrowing it down from a century... to a decade... to a year... to a month... then a day. The first few practices of jumps drained me to the point where I sometimes collapsed. And things went wrong often those first few tries. Once I almost was killed in the burning of a city. Another time I narrowly escaped being buried in a mudslide. But I kept pushing myself until I could jump a hundred days back and forth in a row without anything more than a mild headache. It was like moving an appendage I had never known I had before. And still I worked, because I knew of a huge wrong that only I had the power to set right. It would result in the undoing of my very creation, but it would serve the Earth and it would serve the gods. Then I was ready. I had grown in that time, despite never really being in one spot. I was about thirteen years old by a human scale I think. Thirteen on the outside, but on the inside I was fully a god for the first time in my life. I had it planned out perfectly. I went to exactly a week before that day, and walked into a village by a fateful field calling myself a swineherd. I used some gold I had left to buy a herd of pigs. I got out of there fast, before any questions could be asked as to why there was a swineherd with no pigs to begin with. I spent the rest of the day pacing the field, trying to figure out exactly where I needed to be the next afternoon. That dawn, I had been so sure that I was ready for her and everything would go smoothly. Then she ran in, and suddenly I was far from any semblance of ready. My mother looked so much younger than she did when I saw her. So... happy. And young. Zeus, I looked almost exactly like her. Crud. I had practiced traveling in time, but had figured out how to do almost nothing in changing my appearance other than dimming the radiance of the gods that was not only a dead giveaway, but could blind mortals. I panicked, and tried to change my appearance in a hurry. I ended up being rather tall, around fifteen with straight blond hair instead of my usual black. I had wasted precious time, and had to race to the chasm my father opened. I reached the edge of the chasm just as he grabbed my mother. I was too late to do anything, and I cried. Not because of the pigs that had fallen into the Underworld as the legends say of me, but because seeing the expression of shock and pure terror on my mother's face, too much like my own, snapped something inside me. What would happen to me if I stopped my own birth? But if I did then there would be no winter. No one would starve as Demeter searched for her daughter, and there would be no grief. I had failed to stop the actual kidnapping, but I still could tell Demeter where her Persephone had gone and speed up the events that had led to her forcing Zeus to command Hades to give his niece back. There was only one problem. Even though I asked the rivers and the sun, no one could find her. Though the evidence of her search was everywhere. It was in the dying fields and the crackle of parched leaves. It was in the eyes of the people and all the ribs showing on the children. And it hurt me somehow. I could have stopped it. But in the end Demeter found me. And so I of course told my grandmother who had taken her daughter. But I was too late, and it still haunts me. Mother was of course condemned to stay with my father, and if you wish to hear what happened to her soul down there read the legends. It pains me too much to tell of it here. At my failure I had no time to go to but where I had begun from. With a bitter heart I looked at the old destruction, so fresh. And all my fault. I raged at myself. At the world, but most of all at my family. This I could still stop. And with all my raw anger I gave Time what can only be described as a vicious yank, not even knowing where I was going. I suppose it's a good thing I landed where I did. Right on Mount Olympus, where the gods and goddesses of the panthenon were holding council of my recently learned of disappearance and resolving to search Greece until I was found. They must have been quite shocked to see the topic of the discussion pop out of nowhere into the middle of the court. I actually narrowly missed landing in the eternal fire. At the time I noticed none of this, only that here were the people I was most angry at. So I started screaming at them. Pent up rage and invective and intolerance. When I had run out of breath and unprintables, there was a horrible ringing silence. I stood there under the scrutiny of the Olympians, and that was when I realized just how stupid I was. I had just cursed out the most powerful creatures in the universe. For something I then realized had not been done yet. 


	5. Indomitable

I was wrong as it turned out. Dead wrong. By midday no one dared go out of doors, and some were even beginning to say that the gods demanded a humann sacrifice. If there is one thing the immortals are set against, it is human sacrifice. So I didn't even think about what I was going to do when I slipped out the back. I was going to stop the destruction. Some way or another.  
Once I was actually outside, it was all I could do to gape a bit. Twelve main gods, almost countless minor gods, and the winds. That's a lot of pandemonium in about six hours. That was about when I got seriously ticked off at my relatives. So what if you happen to rule creation! It doesn't give you the right to trample all over it when ever you feel like it. At that inopertune time I came into my power.  
So I stopped time. I didn't notice until I saw a tree uprooted by Boreas, the North Wind. It was just hanging there in midair, stripped of all leaves. That wasn't that unusual a sight considering this sort of thing had been happening all day, but I became seriously confused when I was walking under said tree and felt absolutely no wind. Hesitantly, I reached out and touched one of the tumbling leaves hanging in midair. I felt like I had stepped into a painting or a tapestry depicting the might of the gods. But in tapestries leaves did not move. As soon as I brushed a finger against it, it trembled and fell to the damp ground. I went over to one of the outbuildings still standing, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Sliding to the ground, I leaned my back against the rough boards and tried to gather myself. After a minute, I was pretty sure I knew what had happened, and as I began to grasp the possibilities a smile spread over my face.  
I could go to any time in history I wanted to! I could change the outcome of wars, I could meet Hercules and Orpheus, I could watch the early wars of the gods and the Titans! But then my smile faded. I knew what I wanted to do. But before then I had to learn control. I spent who knows how long in that suspended time. I went back to when that town was one small house on a hill. Then I practiced making more specific jumps, narrowing it down from a century.... to a decade... to a year... to a month... then a day. The first few practices of jumps drained me to the point where I sometimes collapsed. And things went wrong often those first few tries. Once I almost was killed in the burning of a city. Another time I narrowly escaped being buried in a mudslide. But I kept pushing myself until I could jump a hundred days back and forth in a row without anything more than a mild headache. It was like moving an appendage I had never known I had before. And still I worked, because I knew of a huge wrong that only I had the power to set right. It would result in the undoing of my very creation, but it would serve the Earth and it would serve the Olympians.  
Then I was ready. I had grown in that time, despite never really being in one spot. I was about eleven years old I think. Eleven on the outside, but on the inside I was fully a god for the first time in my life. I had it planned out perfectly. I went to exactly a week before that day, and walked into a village by a fateful field calling myself a swineherd. I used some gold I had left to buy a herd of pigs. I got out of there fast, before any questions could be asked as to why there was a swineherd with no pigs to begin with. I spent the rest of the day pacing the field, trying to figure out exactly where I needed to be the next afternoon.  
When she ran in, I was ready. My mother looked so much younger than she did when I saw her. So... happy. And young. Zeus, I looked almost exactly like her. Crud. I had practiced traveling in time, but had figured out how to do almost nothing in changing my appearance other than dimming the radiance ogf the gods that was not only a dead giveaway, but could blind mortals. I panicked, and tried to change my appearance in a hurry. I ended up being rather tall, around fifteen with straight blond hair instead of my usual black. I had wasted precious time, and had to race to the chasm my father opened. I reached the edge of the chasm just as he grabbed my mother. I was too late to do anything, and I cried. Not because of the pigs that had fallen into the Underworld as the legends say of me, but because seeing the expression of shock and pure terror on my mother's face, too much like my own, snapped something inside me. What would happen to me if I stopped my own birth?  
But if I did then there would be no winter. No one would starve as Demeter searched for her daughter, and there would be no grief. I had failed to stop the actual kidnapping, but I still could tell Demeter where her Persephone had gone and speed up the events that had led to her forcing Zeus to command Hades to give his niece back. There was only one problem. Even though I asked the rivers and the sun, no one could find her. Though the evidence of her search was everywhere. It was in the dying fields and the crackle of parched leaves. It was in the eyes of the people and all the ribs showing on the children. And it hurt me somehow. I could have stopped it. But in the end Demeter found me. And so I of course told my grandmother who had taken his daughter. But I was too late, and it still haunts me. Mother was of course condemned to stay with my father, and if you wish to hear what happened to her sould down there read the legends. It pains me too much to tell of it here.  
At my failure I had no time to go to but where I had begun from. With a bitter heart I looked at the old destruction, so fresh. And all my fault. I raged at myself. At the world, but most of all at my family. This I could still stop. And with all my raw anger I gave Time what can onmly be described as a vicious yank, not even knowing where I was going. I suppose it's a good thing I landed where I did. Right on Mount Olympus, where the gods and goddesses of the panthenon were holding council of my recently learned of disappearance and resolving to search Greece until I was found. They must have been quite shocked to see the topic of the discussion pop out of nowhere into the middle of the court. I actually narrowly missed landing in the eternal fire. At the time I noticed none of this, only that here were the people I was most angry at. So I started screaming at them. Pent up rage and invective and intolerance. When I had run out of breath and unprintables, there was a horrible ringing silence. I stood there under the scrutiny of the Olympians, and that was when I realized just how stupid I was. I had just cursed out the most powerful creatures in the universe. For something I then realized had not been done yet. 


	6. Finis

I chose that time to remember all the awful things that can be done to you even if you can't die. Like chaining you to a rock with an eagle eating your liver for all eternity. Or being thrown into Tartarus. Or being tied to a post, having my voice taken from me, being enslaved to a mortal, all retribution given to immortals in the past. Or they could just invent something new to make life miserable for me. Predictably, chaos broke out with each trying to be loudest. Aires was all for Tartarus. Hera thought I deserved to live as a slug. My father, loving parent that he is, thought I should be put under the Erynies for a year. But Zeus pounded his fist, and even Hera was silent. Then he came up with something I thought worse than even the Erynies. He ordered me to explain myself.  
So I related all that had actually not really happened at all to them. And by the time I finished explaining just how that made sense they had gone from angry to slightly confused, but for the most part accepting. Except for Athena, who was silently laughing to herself. But in the end nothing was really done except that I was to go to the Underworld and stay there until I was known and worshipped among the mortals. Then I could choose to stay there or to live on Olympus.  
After that I could of course no longer have Adesron for a name. Immortals are only named after a parent until they grow into their power. They do however continue to grow at the same rate that mortals do until they are formally recognized on Earth as a god, then their growth slows to an almost halt. I had always thought I would have a hard time going by another name than Adesron, but really it was easy. Like shedding an unwanted nickname.  
But then, I had also thought that getting my power would make everything all right. Only it did not. I do not think things will ever be all right simply because I'm neither dark nor light. Because I was feared. Not by the humans as all gods are supposed to be, but by the gods. I saw it in the looks they gave me and the tone they talked to me in. They were afraid of me because Uncle Zeus was right. I was stronger than them. Not physically, I would never look like Aires or Zeus, but in terms of power. Wings and thunder and music were frankly nothing compared to the ability to change the past as I would. And it got to the point where I could take being feared by the only people I knew no longer.  
I did not stop to think, I was just gone. Maybe I left a note, it was all a bit hazy. But I was gone, arrowing to where I had never dared to go in all my practicing. I am in my own future. I'm not going back to the time I was born in, though I'll always think of it as home. Now I sort of understand what my mother thought of the sunlit world I now live in. What I feel for Greece and the time I used to live in is like that, except bigger. I should like to end this by giving my true name, but if I have learned one thing it it that whatever happens branches off in unexpected directions. It's forced me to look farther ahead than I dare go through manipulation of power. You see, I have to set limits on what I will do with my power simply because I can do so much harm and so much good. I will not interfere unless life is threatened or threatens the life of another. And I will not change Time to benefit myself.  
In this time gods do not show themselves the way they used to. Nor do people believe as they did. Gaea has changed, and my family has no part in things like the computer I type this on. I will not pass judgement on if the change is good or bad, wrong or right. It is not my place to be a god in this foreign time, just to keep wandering. Maybe we shall meet sometime. Oh well. Even did we meet and did I tell you who I am you would not believe me anyway. But then, I do not belong here. So that's all right. Finis part one. 


	7. French and Borders

I thought that maybe just getting the burden of exile (unwanted even though it was self-imposed) off of my mind would be enough. And it did help; I can relax now and enjoy the miracle I'm living in. But it's not enough. Putting the fear and the change and the glory into words is strangely addicting. Or maybe it's the computer itself. Zeus knows (actually, he doesn't) that I've seen enough humans addicted to the machine. In any case, I have this need to put this down, not just because I need reassurance this all really is happening. Much as I hate to admit it, I'm lonely. I'm not supposed to be feeling this. Loneliness is the curse and blessing of the gods. I was born to be lonely, and admitting my that emothin changes me seem slike another problem for my family. Noth that I'm a problem for them any more. Not that they care. Not that it was my fault being born with more power than they have. If my parents had just been rational for once in their lives and not mixed the light and dark blood. But he did, and I am forbidden to go back to before my birth to prevent it. I am forbidden to go before my birth at all. Or even to a time in which I have already changed events.  
  
This time is like another world, and a completely crazy one at that. Nothing is as I know it. It's as if everyone lives by an unspoken, nonsensical code. I've seen other languages, other lands, other people. More than I ever dreamed could have existed. But I've never gone more than two thousand years since my time. I don't really know why I took a jump this far. I guess I just want to get away. It's definitely dangerous though. I don't know how I know it, but something tells me that the farther I go ahead the more I can and probably am disrupting the order of things. The problem is, I have no way to know how far too far is until I pass the boundary and stability crumbles to the ground. It scares me, because I'm playing dice with Nature, and feel like I have to stop and keep going at the same time. I have to keep going because otherwise I'll collapse and start crying and never get up again.  
  
I have to go now. I think I hear the mortals that live in this house coming back. Oh katadikazo. I'm going to lose this whole account forever if I don't save it. But if I do, the mortals will find it on their computer. And when they do, they might just believe it. If they believe it and find me somehow, there will be worse than Hell to pay. Because Hell actually isn't that bad. I've lived in it for decades, and there are some interesting people there. I digress. How. ah. There's a printer. Okay. I just accidentally pressed a button and this whole story came out on paper. Amazing. I can print this again, and continue this account in ink.  
  
Right. That was unpleasant. The mortals apparently heard the printing device (Zeus that thing is loud) and came in and started yelling. My first major slip-up. How wonderful. Anyway, I had to freeze them and run. I feel almost sorry for leaving them wondering why they're angry in an empty room.  
  
But I've gone into a Border place. It is a strange name, but I think it's a temple of some sort. Probably to whatever goddess of wisdom these people have. It's filled with books, and everyone speaks in hushed voices. There are people who I think are priests and priestesses, but they're wearing the strangest ceremonial garb I've ever seen. Still, this is something familiar at least. I grab a random book from the shelves and sit on a step. The book is a history, I think. Something about a war between two opinions in a single country. I don't understand much of it. A lady walks up to me, and asks me to make my purchase or leave. I calmly ask "Cannot all people absorb knowledge in the goddesses sanctuary?" the priestess looks at me as though my mind is addled, and says, "Don't be smart with me young man!" This is getting more confusing by the moment. I ask, "What's wrong with being smart? That's what all these scrolls are here for." I watch as her face changes color. It's very intruiging to see her turn white. now red. now a lovely shade of purple. I wonder if this is some sort of trance. Suddenly and for no apparent reason, the priestess starts yelling at me. In French. "Vous bon pour rien le morceau sans père de merde!" Then she visibly collects herself and says in this icy tone that tellls me I should be scared- even though I have done nothing wrong- "I think you'd better leave. Right now." I think I'd better. She could turn violent. Amazing how such a short person can appear so dangerous.  
So I walk out the door- only to find it isn't the same door I walked in. It can't be. I walked in from a gusty autumn day, albeit on a street stranger than any I've seen in a marketplace. Forget the giant painted machines that almost hit me. Four times. Crossing one street. Remarkable how so many humans have survived considering the dangers they don't even spare a second glance. But I digress again. This is not the door I entered. For one thing, it's inside. I think. I can't see the sky, but this is impossibly huge. I thought the Border Temple was a bit large to be built by humans, but that was a temple. It's supposed to be grand. But this. This is beyond huge. It was like a village indoors. only bigger. Woah- I mean, just. woah. Yeah- no! This can't be possible, but it is.  
  
Shining floor stretching off into the distance, glass and light and people. People all around looking in shops, eating, sitting with their bags and talking. And then there's the shops themselves. Glowing, colorful signs bearring the strangest names I've ever heard of. What does Sears mean? And who would name a place Radio Shack? Then the worst part of a very confusing day happens. I hear a voice. A voice out of nowhere. This is paused for and completely disregarded by the rest of the people. I however am having sensory overload and give up and start shouting about how this world is crazy. switch perspective  
  
I don't trust that boy. Probably just a harmless prankster, but there's something about him that tells me he's trouble. So I watch him. He goes out and stares around at the rest of the mall. Stupid kid is probably looking for his next victim. Then an announcement comes on over the intercom. And the kid starts shouting in Greek. My God. He's completely psycho. I reach into my purse, grab my cellphone and dial 9-1-1.  
  
katadikazo- Greek for damn Vous bon pour rien le morceau sans père de merde!- French: You good for nothing fatherless piece of crap!  
  
Sincere apologies for not posting in forever and a day. Thanks to my multitude *coughcough* of reviewers. Love you all. I have read over the other chappies, and swear I'm gonna fix the awful grammar/ spelling. 


	8. Whisper

Paolo Alto Police Station  
The notorious, iconoclastic, undefeatable thief known as Whisper (who also had the unfortunate birth name of Cassandra Elizabeth Green, but no one needed to know that) was bored. True, she was in jail. Well, not actually in jail. Just in "temporary confinement" until the police could find enough evidence to take her to court. Not that she was planning to give them enough time to find evidence. It was all a matter of waiting until they did something stupid as per usual. It helped that she had been in and out of this "temporary confinement" several times in the past fortnight and knew just bout everything there was to know about this particular cell- um. "temporary confinement chamber." It should be easy to escape.  
She was bored, that is, until the same unfortunate officer who had thrown her in arrived with another "detainee" at exactly 2:46.19. Unfortunate because he had been relieved of his watch (actually fairly nice. Almost a pity he would never see it again. almost.), his drivers liscence, wallet, and house keys and been given severely bruised shins, a numb foot, and several almost broken fingers in return. (Cassandra- that is Whisper didn't want to cause more lasting damage because that could be flaunted to make her look bad. worse that is.)  
This prisoner was either extremely stupid (and therefore likely rich, new, or both. what fun.) or completely insane. She chose to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was stupid. (kind of her really.) Probably new to the lawbreaking business from the way he was protesting his innocence (yeah right) even though the police officer obviously didn't care.  
He was probably a blackmailer or a stalker or something. He seemed too hyped to make a thief or smuggler. Of course, this could just be an act to make them think he was stupid. (he was a great actor in that case, she'd never seen a person more obviously lack some if not all brain parts) He could be a fairly good smuggler if he would just chill, because even while freaking out, there was a kind of obsolete perfection that invited you to just slide over him. It was, on second inspection, almost scary how easy it would be for him to fade into the walls. Oh well. It was daylight and Whisper was tired. She was after all awake all night. The camouflaged idiot would have to wait; she was going to sleep.  
  
______________  
  
Confused? Keep reading. No? smart people. you'll find out some very interesting. shall we call them plotbunnies? this is going to be fun. *insert evil laugh here* sorry about switching perspectives. awful writing habbit. oh well. I breathe eat and dream reviews. clear enough? 


	9. No worries

Okies, incase you didn't notice, I'm skipping back and forth between Whisper*cough cough* and Adesron. By the way, *he* will be known by a different name very soon. Oh what fun plotbunnies! On with the story! //\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\\// \\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\// \\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\// \\//\\//\\//\\//  
Right, I'm giving up. I've been doing that all too much lately. I'm lost and scared and confused and hurt and there's a murderer across from me. She's asleep, I think. SHE! That's just one of another preconceptions that's been shattered today. Only boys were killers back home. If there were killers at all. Except the Fates were girls. I think. They're so old it's hard to tell if they are even real sometimes.  
Okay, I'm not sure the girl's a killer. But she had this look in her as if she'd seen life, death and everything in between. And she didn't give a damn. I grew up around all knowing beings, but none of them has ever scared me that much. She didn't even say anything. She just looked at me like she knew everything I've ever thought. I just wanted to disappear. Hide. That's all I've been doing my whole entire life, hiding and running in a never-ending spiral. And when I reach the center, I don't know what I'll do. And frankly, I don't trust myself.  
I have to just be. Not try to avoid being someone else. Not try to be someone at all. Just let responsibility go and act like a kid for a while. Forgetting about the future. The problem is, I'm a god. When gods let go of responsibility, the world lets go of sanity. And I can't forget the future because I'm living it.  
And to complicate things, I'm going to have to do something I've never done before. Again. That's another thing I need to stop doing so often. New things are now officially dangerous and to be avoided at all costs.  
Because the girl with the dead eyes? She's awake.  
  
Whisper had been awake for some time now. She was studying the back of the idiot's head, and she was curious. He was doing something, and she couldn't quite see what. If there was one thing she hated, it was not knowing something. She tried to move to get a better view, but her knee cracked. She froze, hoping the idiot hadn't heard and screaming curses in her head. In four different languages. For a second the idiot kept at whatever he was doing- she hadn't moved quite far enough to see- then just as she breathed again he turned around. Now, seeing him move, she changed her opinion. He didn't cower into the background. He was just like a panther or something. He moved so fluidly that it was hard to tell he had moved at all until he was in a different spot. But there was still that weird feeling about him. Like you can subconsciously tell there's something different about a moon rock. Maybe it was his eyes. They weren't bright or beady or reflecting. They were like the spaces between stars, that spoke of wind and eternity. Then he asked a most unexpected question in a clear, almost humming accent like none Whisper had heard before.  
  
"Are you a murderer?"  
  
"No." she bowed- it somehow seemed kind of more normal around him than it would anywhere else- "I'm Whisper, thief extraordinaire and escape artist."  
  
"If you're an escape artist, then what are you doing behind bars? Is it a custom here to throw visitors into cages?" She was giving him a funny look now.  
  
"You're not from around here, are you."  
  
If only she knew. "No."  
  
"Thought so."  
  
Maybe I was right about her reading thoughts  
  
"Are you on the run from another government?"  
  
Never mind. "Kind of."  
  
"What's your story?"  
  
"What's yours?"  
  
"I'll tell if you will."  
  
"Okay. Do you want the unbelievable truth, or the believable?"  
  
What the heck. "Unbelievable truth."  
  
"Well, it's a very long story but the gist of it is that I'm from Ancient Greece, am the son of the God of Death, am here because I ran away and am now completely freaked out by this time but can't go back home."  
  
I knew he was out of his mind. But it was just crazy enough that maybe. Don't be stupid Whisper. No thief worth their loot would believe in magic. Even if they were fool enough to, they would never admit it. No, not even to herself. "Prove it."  
  
I sighed. Oh well. If I was giving up I might as well go for the gold. I concentrated on the powers that had come with my wandering abilities. I was harder here. No distraction. Empty. I am empty. And I can fly.  
  
Oh my god. OH my freaking god. The mental case must be contagious or something. Now I'M seeing things. Not good. Not good at all. I could swear he just dissapeared. Then an annoyingly shrill yet unbelievably loud sound cut through my confusion. PEEP!  
  
I had forgotten just how free it felt to be in animal form. The look that Whisper had on her face just made it better. I decided to be kind to her and shouted. "HEY!" Only I'm sure she didn't hear it that way. It got her attention at least. Okay, now she was just staring at me. This was just getting better and better. Time to change back to human form. I breathed in, letting go while silently thanking the bird's spirit for use of its shell.  
  
This time I refused to blink, and there was the mental case- maybe that should be my name now- standing there with this incredibly annoying smile on his face. I felt anger growing, quickly taking over the surprise and dismay. "What the HELL!" Oops. Wrong move. Yelling at the top of your lungs in a cell right outside a room full of injured(*insert evil grin here*) and irritated police officers? Not a good idea. Even I have more sense than that. Unless I see a time traveling god turn into a bird and back before my eyes. I made an exception for that. Then the little voice in my head decided to make an appearance. oh, so now you actually believe him? The worst thing about the voice was that it was always right.  
  
But now was not the time for Adesron to be laughing at the way mortals showed their feelings completely in their faces. Now was not the time for Whisper to be arguing with herself. Now was the time for the theif and the god to get themselves together and start worrying. Their reasons for worrying would have been for very different reasons, but the key was that they had been thrown together. And as anyone familiar with time knows, it has an unpredictable and slightly ironic habit- if something so diverse as time can have habits- of creating unlikely allies. The son of Hades had sealed both their fates in a way so deep that neither could have known when he spilled the only secret keepig him alive to a jailbird. More correctly, the so-called Whisper- with some deep secrets of her own. Yet neither of them bothered to worry about the worlds that they would touch, maybe healing. Maybe destroying. Yet. 


	10. No More Reality

I am currently experiencing what may be the most annoying of all cases of writers block in the history of my kind. There is no lack of ideas. Oh no. It might even be easier if there were none. The fact is that I have no idea how to bridge the millions of situations carefully woven during boring classes. It doesn't help that so far I have had zero, count them- ZERO! reviews since chapter six. Can there be anything more depressing? I think not. I started this story for myself. By the seventh chapter, it became for you. If there is really anyone reading this. Do you have any idea of how empty it feels to believe that your story might just be one of those flops destined to float around cyberspace alone and unread? At this point, I'm way beyond any semblance of dignity that I may have had. This is as close as I have ever been to senseless pleading in my life. //\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\ //\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\ //\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\ //\\//\\//\\//\\ sorry for the little foreboding drama thingy at the end of last time. "I couldn't resist mate."Jack!*Captain Jack Sparrow. *drools*  
  
Reality no more  
  
Recap: "What the HELL!" Oops. Wrong move. Yelling at the top of your lungs in a cell right outside a room full of injured(*insert evil grin here*) and irritated police officers? Not a good idea. Even I have more sense than that. Unless I see a time traveling god turn into a bird and back before my eyes. I made an exception for that.  
The god-dude (I don't even know his name. Damn, I'm usually more careful about these things.) was obviously trying not to laugh. As it so happened, that was a nice excuse to hate his guts at the moment. More, that is. Do I really need much of a reason to hate? No. But I didn't really have the time to be thinking. As it so happened, my shout had been loud to get the fat police officer back here. The one I elbowed in the eye. It was already puffing up. Note to self: stop being proud of hurting people. He doesn't look too happy. Wonder why.  
"Shut up you damn criminals! After you get nailed in court, I'm gonna get you back for giving me a black eye. Hang police brutality!" Oh yeah. That's why he wasn't overjoyed to see my luminous self. People are so touchy. I was being nice really, not doing much damage. Kind of. Oh good, he'd gone away. If he was going to get up he might have actually tried to get me to care. Jeez, I need to stop letting everything happen while I just sit here drooling and thinking. Me? Thinking? That would have anyone back home laughing like- no. bad lizzie. I mean Whisper. yeah. bad whisper. that sounded strange. no thoughts of home, all right? no it's not alright but hey. HOW ALRIGHT CAN YOU GET WHEN IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME UNTIL YOU GET YOUR BUTT KICKED BY SOME VERY ANGRY OLD PEOPLE WHO YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO RESPECT BUT DON'T EVEN LISTEN TO! man my life's screwed up. That would be when I realized that I had been muttering to myself for maybe five minutes and the ancient god in the jail cell across from me was kind of just staring. And blinking. A lot. Wait. Rewind. God. Woah. I didn't really have time to think about that conversation with myself before the officer dude came in. I actually believed he was a god. I'm not trying to rationalize his little bird issue, because somehow reading all those fantasy books when I was little two years ago had given me this belief that magic didn't quite follow rules. Hypocritical from someone who swore at age fourteen to never believe in magic again. I mean, magic had been my life. But I wasn't even supposed to be thinking about the time when I was Lizzie. Because I'm not anymore. Lizzie believed in magic and was a kid and was normal. And she's dead now. God I'm confusing myself. And I need to get that god- still don't know his name! to stop blinking. Whoever thought blinking could be annoying?!  
  
Oh shiz.  
  
Major shiz.  
  
*flashback*: Whisper: "What's your story?"  
  
God-dude: "What's yours?"  
  
Whisper: "I'll tell if you will." major major shiz I am in. I shiz you not Sherlock. That was so stupid.  
  
Cuz he'd told me the truth. The truth he'd not told anyone else. Why couldn't he have chosen someone else? I asked him. Stupid. So now I had to tell him the truth I'd not told anyone else. Because I am a thief who keeps her word. Even if I am a hopeless hypocrite sometimes.  
  
While I was having little panicked thoughts in the front of my brain, in the back the wheels were creaking into motion. The wheels that had kept Whisper the kidnapper, the fighter, the thief, the rebel, the runner alive over six thousand miles, two continents, and a month in the city. Living off her wits had left her with the means to turn this situation- taking all the lives that would be affected by it- to her advantage. Even if she shared the truth, Whisper could control the situation and the people in it. Because she had a plan. And she always worked well when the stakes were high. It was not a nice plan. It was not a fair plan. It was not a reasonable plan. But it was a good plan. Because this plan was by Whisper. This was reality no more. It was a game. And she made the rules, even when she was up against magic. No matter how much of this was unknown and uncontrolled, Whisper was going to win this game. On reflection, you could almost feel sorry for the poor god, who still had no clue that his confidant had turned into his opponent. But she did not reflect. There was no time for the reflection, only the authentic. And she did not feel sorry, for when you play the game you can not feel. 


	11. Fairy Tales

"So now what?"  
  
Jerked out of her detached musings, Whisper utilized her ability to come up with a quick and snappy response. "Huh?"  
  
"Um... we're in cages. The man with no hair just finished yelling at us for exactly twenty minues and fourteen seconds. I'm in a different world in the name of Zeus. Now what?"  
  
"Twenty minutes and fourteen seconds?"  
  
"I had nothing better to do than count seconds while he was yelling."  
  
He actually startled a laugh out of her. No! Moron! You do not get attached to the immortal shrimp! She wouldn't do something as self destructive as that. Though he was cute in a rather pathetic way... Whisper cut off that disturbing train of thought in the quickest way possible. She screamed. High and wordless and incredibly loud.  
When she was done the god was just looking at her. With the best- and therefore the inherently most annoying- puppy eyes she had seen yet. Damn. Better even than when- No. Whisper. Her name was Whisper. She lived in San Fransisco and had lived there ever since she was orphaned. Yes.  
  
...  
  
At the front deck of the police station, the officer winced as he heard screaming. Then yelling. That girl. Ugh. Just- ugh. Groaning, he slammed his head backward into the wall. And again. By the end of the morning the gun safety poster behind him was rather the worse for the beating.  
  
...  
  
There was only one alternative to this situation. God, she'd been inteligent more than was healthy in the past few hours. Not smart. There was nothing wrong with being smart. It's when you start being intelligent that things get all buggered- no, screwed- up.  
  
...  
  
I am currently more confused than I've ever been. I mean, I had just answered a question. A simple question. Then the murderer starts screaming and now she's swearing. I wish I hadn't learned French. And German. And Gaelic. And Portugese. And Korean. Or English for that matter. At the moment multilingual fluency was enough to make me blush. If I could cover my ears while writing I would. Not like it hadn't come in useful over a few decades of travel. Okay, maybe a century. Running. As always. Oh good. She's going to be done screaming soon. Don't ask how I know, I just do. For some reason I don't want her to know about this. But that makes no sense... I've already trusted her with my biggest secret. So why don't I trust her? I'm just being paranoid. Not going to listen to the uneasiness anymore. It's time to stop running.  
  
...  
  
Hmmm. So the shrimp has something he's not sharing. He was probably hoping I'd ignore my glimpse of something he was fiddling with. He made it disappear quick enough, I need to remember that speed if I'm going to use this and come out on top. Maybe the godling thought I'd forget he's powerful because he's little and sweet. Not a chance. I need to know him inside and out before I pull my biggest stunt yet. And I'm going to trust my instinct that it was some sort of book he was looking at. In places like this, you either learn to trust your instincts or you fall farther than his little Greek version of Hell. "Right. I've got a plan to get us out of here."  
  
"Really?"  
  
Roll of the eyes. He was so stupid and annoying sometimes. "Duh. Now, can you shift the appearance of things other than yourself like you did with that bird trick?"  
  
"I don't know. I've never tried it before."  
  
My eyes are going to get tired if I keep rolling them so often. "Why not? Oh never mind. Then try it."  
  
"...uh... What should I turn you into?"  
  
"Something small. And turn yourself into one too."  
  
(five minutes later)  
  
That's funny, I thought I heard a kinda splatting noise. Then again, maybe I've been banging my head on the wall too much.  
  
...  
  
Oh my god I am going to kill him. God or no, as soon as I get my body back I am going to shoot him. Screw the plans. He is going to wish that he was never born. I'll show him true hell.... as soon as I get my body back.  
  
Oh shut up! I wish that little voice would stop telling me that at least we're out of the jail. I should be grateful. God, that voice is intolerably like Cass... ugh. Not thinking about that. They're all dead and by god they're staying that way.  
  
Why should I be grateful to him?  
  
The shrimp turned us into bloody FROGS. I hate frogs. Moreover, frogs definitely don't belong in San Fransisco. We've been hopping- and it is undignified for a thief to HOP- all around to find somewhere where we won't give someone a heart attack by turning back into humans. There are too many damn people in this friggin' city. Normally it makes pickpocketing easier, but now it's really, really inconvienent.  
  
AAAH! Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. This is where thinking gets you. I've been lost in thought and following the godling around and now he's led us into traffic! We're gonna die. We're gonna die and I'm going to be squashed by a car and become a green- GREEN! smear in the road. And Laney will starve to death back home and I'm gonna die.  
  
...  
  
The two frogs were stranded on the yellow line in the middle. Around them buses and cars and the occasional motorcycle zoomed. All quite capable of squashing both in an instant. And why not? They were just two insignificant lives. Nobody would really miss them. And there are plenty of problems more important than those belonging to two frogs in a city.  
  
But as chance would have it they made it safely to the last hurdle. The trolley tracks right by an alley. They had both regained a bit of the confidence severely torn by a score of near deaths. Then, again quite by chance, there was a trolley came around that corner just as the last frog was hopping towards the other who was already in the alley. The trolley, filled to bursting with tourists and commuters and all manner of people, very effectively squashed half of the last frog. A little girl on the back of the trolley gasped at the rather disgusting sight. She turned to her brother and blurted something about the "poo' wog! Ftop and hep it!" He said there was nothing they could do about it. He turned back to the infinitely more interesting cd he was listening to. Just before the trolley went over a hill the girl saw the frog turn into two people. And she gasped, but kept this latest wonder to herself. It was just like a fairy tale.  
  
Only in fairy tales there is no gore. In fairy tales there are no hopeless tears. In fairy tales there is no smell of death.  
  
This is no fairy tale. 


	12. Guilt of Coffee

  
It made Whisper feel guilty to dream of coffee. She'd been feeling guilty an inordinate amount lately. But she was entirely too exhausted to get scared of it like she had been. The past month had been wearing on her, and now too many sleepless nights had made her physically unable to shut off her feelings. The unwanted thoughts of home were pressing in on her like a threatening promise. But that was nothing compared to the daze of tiredness and guilt.   
         It was all her fault. Everything.   
        She had ruined her own life and Laney's too. Though she would never admit it. Not to mention the godlings in an indirect way. He was in no state to admit anything. He was dead. Or he would be. It was only a matter of time.   
        She knew nothing about what to do, and despite her unshakable smoke screen she had never seen anyone die. The god wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't allowed to die....  
        How could he f1i live f0i0 when he was half dead? The godling had lost a leg back in the alley. Thank god the leg itself had stayed in frog form. It had been bad enough to see the godling with his face and chest bloodied, an obviously shattered thighbone actually f1i showing f0i0 . If she had had to deal with a disembodied leg as well she knew she would have lost it. Sobbing and vomiting in the streets would not do anything.   
  
        Getting back had been a nightmare. Passerby staring as she tried to be inconspicuous while half-dragging the godling- she cursed herself silently for forgetting the kid's name... very unprofessional. It could almost make her smile. Professional had gone down the drain.   
        Whisper had taken the precaution of wrapping his limp body in a discarded tarpaulin at the back of the alley. The stairs to her current residence had been the worst part. Tripping over the tarp and gasping for breath was the order of the day. With the occasional heart-stopping interval of when Whisper lost her balance for a second and nearly toppled both of them to the pavement beneath them. At last it was over. Blessedly over. She had dim memories of fumbling for the doorknob, and stumbling over to lay the godling on the couch. Oh yes, she vaguely thought, leaning against the wall as she trembled with shock and exhaustion. The godling's name is Adesron.   
        Looking at the pitiful figure lying there, she was startled to find herself thinking that now she knew what name to put on the grave. Poor Adesron, so far from home, and now he would die here. There was no way he could live. Whisper herself knew nothing about first aid, and it wasn't like any doctors in the world could save him the way he looked.   
        Besides, wouldn't his being a god mess things up? Wouldn't he like have a different blood type or something? There had been something about divine blood in the myths they had read in school. Actually, she and her friends had passed notes the entire unit. Crud monkeys. The one time she'd let herself remember home in a month and it had done absolutely nothing except make her miss her family and friends more. Drat, she wasn't supposed to even remember them at all. There was just too much to deal with.   
        Nothing like this was mentioned in the books she had read. No one else ever got dumped with dying immortals or got locked up in "detention centers" for weeks on end. Not fair...  
        Okay. Time to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Just take a nap. But what if the godling dies while you're asleep. Damn, I'm talking to myself. Screw him. I'm going to sleep. Just a nap...  
        Two hours later, Whisper didn't feel much better. But well enough to take perfunctory care of Laney, who seemed to like Adesron. She was unusually quiet, spending hours at a time wedged onto the couch with the dying godling. Whisper had even had to chase her off his chest a few times. Whisper herself was fairly sure that she was going to get sick sometime. Not sleeping, living off peanut butter for a week. Can't be good for you. At the end of the week she was seeing through a haze. So much that she didn't notice what was happening to Adesron. Whisper was dozing against the end of the couch wrapped in an old quilt at the time... So how bad am I at cliffhangers? If you want to have a hint at what happened, take a look at the Greek myth of Prometheus. If you're too lazy, wait a few weeks and I'll update again. As always, you can save my friends by reviewing. Otherwise they will be pestered by me until they review again. You wouldn't want that hanging over your head, would you? So do your good deed for the day... week? and review! } 


	13. Once Upon a Time

_Drifting_

_I thought I was underwater. _

_Maybe I still am...._

_It feels like it. _

_My eyes are closed, as if weighted with lead_

_Maybe I'll never open them again._

_It would be so much more comfortable than to move._

_No sight..._

_Just darkness_

_I know I'm underwater now from the pressure on my chest, and the tinny ringing in my ears..._

_drifting..._

_Still blackness. What water is this inky? How long has it been?_

_Where is this?_

_no...._

_i don't care if I ever know..._

_so warm_

_the floating is soporific_

_hm...._

_soporific... why does the word conjure a face? and why is it so pale... still... waxlike..._

_dead?_

_the friend... taught me the word soporific i think_

_and much else.. not so very long ago._

_two centuries maybe_

_how to read the map in the stars..._

_water... we were on water then too and the world was burning..._

_but how could he be dead?_

_oh. _

_a _human

_... where am I then, to be living among humans?_

_oh. no.. oh no..._

_i remember._

_i remember it all now..._

_my realization... failure to change the past and wipe away the events that led to my birth..._

_for some reason I feel guilty at my relief, to live. _

_I was ready though. _

_to stop being._

_but then..._

_when._

_when am I?_

_hm_

_the ringing is in a receeding slightly..._

_i can hear breathing now_

_not my own..._

_but how do you hear breath underwater?_

_and..._

_ugh._

_what in the name of... _that smell!

My eyes blinked open... leaden and resisting to see amber eyes staring right back. I started at the closeness...

and could not move.

How did I become wrapped in blankets? Why was there a spring digging into my back? What was I doing on a decrepit sofa? Where was this anyway? Was that a cat on my chest? In the name of the River, what was Epimetheus thinking when he created such a monstrous _creature_? It was huge and grey striped, with disproportionate ears and the worst breath I have ever had the displeasure of smelling.

Ok. So I'm not underwater. That's a definite. But I can't move, probably due to the restrictive coverings and that cat. Somehow I've taken an instant dislike to the thing. Why is it lying on me anyway?

So.

What had happened...

I quickly reviewed times I knew I had traveled out of.

My own time... the times of chaos and death and wars...

Then into a world of music and painted smiles. A world where battle was a game; if you died of the sport on the street you would fall to the gutter. And the humans would turn elaborate heads in the opposite direction. Ladies would lift skirts to avoid touching the filth, (though for all their facepaint they were pervaded by that filth) and step farther onto the sidewalk. A stranger looking in my mind would see, perhaps, so much reflection and notice of death, illness, war... I am not obsessed as one might think. It's just all so foreign I can't help noticing and trying to understand. Growing up in Death, living surrounded by it... I still makes no sense to me. I fail to comprehend it every time. Every time I have encountered It in my eight hundred years traveling I stare as I did the first time. What is this... oubliette... you speak of? I feel a child. My mind whines over and over... I don't understand!!! Desperate. But I speak of a fleeting moment in so many words as to seem ridiculous. And do I not have an eternity of sheer blankness ahead, in which to contemplate as I languish in exile? Now...

Oh yes. I was in a cage... With the child of dead eyes. Then we got out... As frogs. Ludicrous, true, but it was the first thing that had come to mind, and I was slightly nervous about what would happen if I messed up transforming her. She was being extraordinarily quiet afterwards.

darnit

That... that... street! It was awful. All roaring and screaming. So big! But the body I had chosen was able to make it almost to the other side. Then there was a monster. Looming huge, it had roared up out of nowhere. Such unnatural colors too. But after that? It was just pain followed by more of such pain as I have never know until I had mercifully slipped into the blackness. Ow. The pain was still there. Dimmer, but still burning cold. All right. condition check: pain. sight.(fuzzy but there) pain. hearing. more pain. smell certainly. pain. eww. that cat had just sighed in my face and it stinks of rot.

ok. next question. voice... is there anyone around? Did Whisper get killed by the monster? I hope she didn't. Even if she is a bit evil. I opened my mouth tentatively

"Hello?"

It came out as a strangled gurgle. My throat was so dry. I tried again, and this time it was close to recognizable, certainly louder. But probably not audible to anyone other than the cat. Really rather pathetic considering the thing was probably three inches from me. Ow.

It was hard to breathe even without taking into considering the cat. And the thing felt like twenty pounds. I swear it was gargantuan. Like a Titan cat. Alright. Third time lucky...

"**HELLO**?"

there. that sounded nearly normal. Weak yes, breathy and rather weak but coherent.

There was instant response; Whisper's head popped up from where she had apparently been sitting on the ground behind the side of the sofa. What had she been doing sitting there on the ground for the long minutes I had been awake? And silent too. The speed combined with her absolutely flabbergasted expression would have been comical had her face not been rather grimy and obviously tearstained. Crying for what? I got my mouth, full of questions, open perhaps halfway before the noise started. The next minute or so was a blur. A very loud and somewhat painful blur. Guess silent doesn't apply anymore. The most I remember thinking is _how could merely two mortal beings possibly make so much sound?_ The cat yowled as Whisper went into something resembling a siezure, alternately yelling at me and grabbing the cat to hug it. The creature did not enjoy the attention, escaping as soon as she rounded on me. Escaping to my leg actually. Let me tell you that hurt beyond belief. My leg that is. There was so much mix up with me voicing my pain and my questions in a hoarse voice punctuated by coughing, Whisper truly shrieking, the cat hissing and yowling...

To make a long story short, after much ado the three of us- I was informed the cat was named Laney, even though it was male. I didn't even want to know why- were settled on the couch. Laney on the arm behind me as grumpy pillow, Whisper at the very end, and me pretty much squashed between them.

She then proceeded to explain that I had pretty much died being run over by a trolley, and that between the loss of a leg and the complete squashing of my entire right side I shouldn't be among the living. It was too much to take in, much less accept. So I just let her words wash over me. There was somethig that felt wrong with the story though. My arm was very sore and a bit lacerated, breathing was slightly painful and my leg hurt so much it felt numb. But my leg shouldn't have been there right? I untangled the blankets, noticed I was missing my shirt. My trousers were still there- filthy but there- and I definitely had two legs. Whisper just kind of blinked a bit. It hit me then, and the extent of my stupor- that I hadn't remembered!- made me laugh out loud. But it hitched up somewhere in my throat so it came out more as a disbelieving gasp. Then, clear and more easily than before, came the sentence that heralds greatness and idleness and all the glory of this Earth.

"Would you like to hear a story?"


	14. The Rim of Tartarus

Centuries they sat there, weaving a miasma of times past. Or minutes only, in which words were poured out, words that captivated and terrified them both. Maybe they are still sitting there, merely an instrument to a force old as memory. Captured were lives of heroes and powerful ideals and courage born of desperation laid out in a glittering web, hopeless tragedies and sweeping battles pulling in both storyteller and listener. Was I ever one of them? Could it have been I who sat there, hanging on the tales of a dead world? Arrogant, immature, manipulative, restless me with my spontaneous plans of mischief and impulsive outbursts! It hardly seems real, as if that too is only a myth. But what a myth! The ruthlessly cynical side of me insists that it was only a day and a night, foolishly spent in listening to a lunatic spinning pagan legends: It's stupid to be so caught up in the unreal as to forego sleep and food. Folly to be so engaged in a totally fictional past that at times I would gasp and hold my breath only to sigh in sympathy or relief. Then something in me would stir, and marvel that all this was being told to me by a god, a living breathing memory of times when reality and belief were one. It was hard to comprehend, so much so that even when I reminded myself of this it was more than my mind could do to grasp the idea. All I saw were the planes of his face, thrown into sharp relief by the bare lightbulb above us; long hands sculpting the air in front of him. I was hardly aware of where I curled on the rough sofa, watching Adesron staring past the shabby, unused room I had appropriated a few months ago. I had agreed to his story- if that's the right word for it- with a sort of disdain for such childish pastimes this ancient obviously loved. I don't know why I said yes in the first place, maybe it was the way he said "Would you like to hear a story?" with such gravity. As if he was offering me great treasure, priceless and then some. What kept me from getting bored or tired, or realizing cramps, hunger or anything was his eyes- almost more than his words. Now it seems airheaded and senseless... almost romantic. Romantic in a nobler way than I can relate to. An echo of chivalry and pointless nonsensicalities that somehow touched me. How? It's not like anyone ever accused me of having a heart. Surely these are not words ever used to by me. But strange as it sounds it was true, just like that day, just like my perculiar guest. And I have known the eyes of a god... When we had met his eyes had been an unremarkable greyish. Certainly nothing memorable. Once the tale of his world began he was like a different man. er, different boy. different god... oh whatever. I'm embarassing myself, the point is that something strange happened to both of us. I'm sure I was a child again. Rather, the child I had never been. And who can be cynical when time pauses and magic really does exist? That memory- hugging my knees to myself and captivated by his eyes; eyes like the rim of the Tartarus he spoke of. It was completely stunning, but in the end I was not numb and reeling, only wanting more. More of what I didn't know, but I could have sat there forever. The dawn was farther than any dawn before, when Eternity sat on the couch with us two. But dawn came with the end of Adesron's words, and not the other way around. When the open door shone golden and rosy light danced on the rusty stair rail, we still sat in the decripit room. The door to the outside faced east, away from the cry of the sea. The lumpy and fraying couch had once been deep green before being patched and stained by some previous owner. Shortly after the forgotten room had been quietly occupied, that couch and a solitary cardboard box that held my life had quietly disappeared before the garbage collector came. All signs of human habitation had been carefully situated away from all view the narrow space between two brick buildings afforded. Just in case a tourist happened to take a wrong turn and chanced to look up to where a fire escape led to a peeling door hanging off the hinges. The god and I sat there quietly, connected by the night behind us and seperated by the awkwardness of perfect strangers thrown together by some remarkably strange quirks of chance. Ever since he had disrupted my settled nomadic existence with an unwanted confession of divinity, I had been turned into a frog, almost hit by a trolley, gone oddly stoic and caring, _cried_ for the first time in years, and been turned into a gibbering imbecile by a few words and a pair of eyes. Ugh. Just- ugh. The world is doing handsprings and headstands and all I can think of that makes any sense is that I really really want a hot shower and some coffee. 


End file.
